


Off Her Feet

by gamerfic



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bathing/Washing, F/M, Foot Massage, Oral Sex, Service Top, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 10:55:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8159660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamerfic/pseuds/gamerfic
Summary: Iron Bull shows Flissa how much he appreciates the cozy, peaceful atmosphere of The Singing Maiden - and the woman who created it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [commanderlurker (honeybee592)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/gifts).



Flissa was wiping down tables in The Singing Maiden when the door swung open and the Iron Bull walked in. "We're closed," she said, trying to keep the weariness out of her voice.

"I know," said Bull. "Sorry. Krem forgot his gloves. _Again_." He strode over to the corner table where he and the Chargers had spent the evening and rooted around under the chairs until he came up with a pair of scuffed leather gauntlets. "I swear, that kid would forget his limbs if they weren't attached."

"When I was a girl, my mother sewed my mittens to my cloak on a string so I couldn't lose them," Flissa said. "Maybe Krem should try that."

Iron Bull chuckled, a low rumbling sound. "Perfect. I'll have to suggest it the next time he loses track of his gear. I already threatened to embroider all his belongings with his initials."

"I didn't know you could embroider."

"You'd be surprised at the things I can do."

"I'll bet I would be. Have a good night, Bull."

"Oh, believe me, I already have."

Flissa returned to her work, but Bull didn't leave. She heard his heavy footsteps creaking against the floorboards as he drew nearer to her. She lifted her head to discover him leaning against the table with his attention firmly fixed on her. "Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For everything you do to keep this place running." He gestured extravagantly around him at the interior of The Singing Maiden, its quiet emptiness dimly lit by guttering candles and the red glowing embers of the fireplace. "It's amazing how much you accomplish with so little help. You make it look easy, but I can see how hard it is. Not everybody does."

Flissa blushed at the unexpected compliment. "It's nothing compared to fighting demons and trying to close the Breach."

"Sure. Not everyone can do that. But when the people who can are finished fighting, know where they end up? Right here. They eat, and drink, and tell tales, and laugh, and sing, and make new friends. They let their guard down because they feel welcome. Making a safe place for everyone...it's tough. I couldn't do it. But you can. And I really appreciate it, Flissa."

She cast her eyes downward, uncertain of how to respond. "You're welcome," she stammered. "I'm glad you like coming here. I should really finish closing up for the night."

"If that's what you want, I'll leave you to it. But you know why I came back for Krem's gloves, instead of telling him to do it himself?"

"I'll admit I was wondering."

"Like I said, you don't get enough appreciation for everything you do. You always seem so tense. Like you've got the weight of this whole place on your shoulders. I'd like to do something to help you relax. Even if it's only for a little while."

Flissa met Bull's attentive gaze and discovered she wasn't imagining the implication in his words. "You do so much for me already, Bull. You're my best tipper. Even better than the Herald."

Bull chuckled again. "Don't tell that to the Herald. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, _lots_ of things. You'll have to help me narrow them down. But I guess I do have one idea to start with."

Flissa's mouth went dry. Many of her customers flirted with her, and Iron Bull was no exception. Although she disdained the leers and wandering hands of other patrons, something was different about Bull's casual, teasing innuendo. His joking double entendres and over-the-top compliments somehow always demonstrated that he honestly valued her. _Wanted_ her. Often she'd stolen lingering looks at his broad shoulders and muscular chest, or imagined how his rough horns might feel beneath her fingertips, or wondered whether the parts of him she couldn't see were as big as the parts she could. But she'd never expected her fantasies to come true. "Tell me," she said, hoping she sounded suggestive and coy.

"You spend all day standing behind the bar, or walking around to bring us our drinks. Your feet must be so sore by sunset. Would you like me to rub them for you?"

"Yes. That sounds wonderful." She lowered her voice. "But you should know my feet might not be the only part of me in need of a massage."

His single eye darkened with lust. "Bolt the door," he said.

Nervous anticipation coiled in Flissa's belly as she did as Iron Bull asked. Meanwhile, he rummaged behind the bar and produced a clean cloth, a bar of soap, and a basin of warm water. "Ready?" he asked as he set the items on a stool, and she nodded. He crossed the room to her, lifted her up with his large hands encircling her waist, and carried her over to the bar as if she weighed nothing. Then he set her carefully down on top of it and pulled up a chair in front of her.

When Flissa tried to untie her boots, Bull pushed her hand away. "Nah. You're done working for the day, remember? Relax and let me take care of you." She leaned back and let him loosen her bootlaces, pull off her boots, and slowly peel down her stockings. She worried momentarily about how sweaty and smelly her bare feet were, but Bull didn't appear to notice or care. He only filled his hands with soapy lather and gently, thoroughly scrubbed the day's dirt and grime from her skin.

After Bull had toweled Flissa's clean feet dry, the massage began. He started with her toes and worked his way up, from the balls of her feet to the arches to the heels, alternating between each foot as his strong hands steadily rubbed warmth and relaxation into every aching inch. He touched her with the perfect amount of pressure, neither too firm nor too light. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so pampered, so cared for. Then he put one hand around each of her ankles, squeezing them in a comforting pattern, and observed, "Your calves are tight, too."

"Would you rub them for me, then? Please?"

"I'd love to." He kneaded her lower legs until he had worked the knots out of her tense muscles. Her knees fell involuntarily to either side at his persistent touch. His hands moved higher, past the hem of her skirt, spreading her legs farther apart. She didn't stop him when he began to stroke her inner thighs. She flinched when he found an unexpectedly ticklish spot, and he slowed his inexorable pace long enough to ask, "You know you can tell me to stop anytime, right?"

"Yes. But don't." She hiked up her skirts around her waist and lifted her hips toward his roaming fingers, so there could be no doubt about what she wanted next.

He _did_ touch her there, but not before teasing the area around it with feints and almost imperceptible brushes of his coarse fingertips. She rutted against nothing, whispering, "Please, please," and moaned when his hand first made contact with her. He grunted in satisfaction when he felt how wet she already was. Her moans only became louder as he slipped one thick finger into her, and her climax followed shortly thereafter.

But Iron Bull wasn't finished with her yet. "I'm going to use my mouth now," he said with his finger still inside her. "Put me where you want me to go." She nodded enthusiastically, and he bent his head between her legs. Steadying herself atop the bar with one hand, she gripped one of his horns with the other. He rewarded her with a pleased hum that traveled all the way up her spine. In this way it was easy to direct his lips and tongue to the parts of her that most ached for his deliberate, inexhaustible attention, until she lost track of how many times she came.

"Stop, enough," Flissa finally whimpered, and gently pushed him away. He straightened up, wiping his mouth, smirking proudly. She rearranged her skirts with mock demureness and said with a seductive smile, "You were incredible. Surely there must be some way I can repay you."

For a moment, Bull seemed to consider it, but then he shook his head. "Not right now. Tonight was all about you, Flissa. And I hope you'll remember it every time you stand behind this bar."

"Thank you. I will. But if you ever change your mind...if you ever want help unwinding after a long day...well, you know where to find me."

"I certainly do. Someday I'll take you up on that offer." His smooth, deep voice sent a shiver through her sensitized body as she imagined all the things they hadn't done yet.

"I look forward to it," said Flissa. "Good night, Bull."

"Good night," he said. He walked to the door and unbolted it, then cast a final knowing grin over his shoulder at her before a gust of cold wind whisked him out into the darkness.

Despite Flissa's best intentions, she never really spoke to the Iron Bull again. The next day, he joined the Herald on a mission in the Hinterlands and came back somber, preoccupied, and in no mood to carouse in a tavern. She saw him briefly at the celebration that ensued after they all thought the Herald had closed the Breach for good, but she was busy serving the revelers and they could only exchange a few flirtatious glances across the crowd. Then came Corypheus and his dragon, and the Herald pulling her from the burning rubble of The Singing Maiden, and their desperate retreat through the mountains to Skyhold. In the face of such improbable survival, swearing her life to the Chantry was the least she could do, no matter what she had to give up.

All the same, during long cold nights in her narrow novice's bed, she would think back on her time with the Iron Bull and feel warm and cared for all over again. Maybe such fantasies weren't exactly becoming of a Chantry sister in training. But she didn't think the Maker would fault her for fondly remembering the kindness Bull had shown her, or the many ways he'd seen her when she'd wrongly believed herself invisible.


End file.
